"To be honest, this is the first time I've ever had an enemy demand that I remember him," Lanqi murmured to himself, gazing at the tilted, colossal broadcast screen behind the ruins.
Moments ago, Beelzebub had seemed remarkably arrogant, declaring he would leave an indelible mark on Lanqi's memory.
"Unfortunately, it looks like the one who will teach you love is..."
Facing the Perlman puppet manipulated by Beelzebub, Lanqi could only wear a regretful expression, waving his right hand gently as if bidding Beelzebub farewell.
Yet by now, Beelzebub had no attention to spare for Lanqi's mind games.
The garden of Count Baptiste's manor, once brimming with blooming flowers and vibrant life, was reduced to a desolate, battered ruin.
A torrential downpour relentlessly lashed the ground, turning the estate garden into a muddy quagmire. The once-smooth stone paths were now cratered and pocked with murky puddles.
The greenhouse glass had completely shattered, exposing the precious flora within to the raging storm, fragile and perilously near destruction.
"..."
A terrifying aura akin to the descent of Death itself and a gaze that chilled the soul filled Beelzebub with an unprecedented terror that coursed through his entire body.
He had already lost count of how many blows he had rained upon Ivanos just moments before.
Every trembling nerve screamed at him to flee; cold sweat seeped from every pore.
His overbearing pride crumbled to dust in that instant, replaced entirely by raw survival instinct. In the shadow of looming death, Beelzebub cared nothing for saving face. He spun frantically on his heel and fled toward the distance at top speed, like a startled bird escaping an archer's bow.
His battered, frantic silhouette vanished into the rain-swept horizon in the blink of an eye.
Inoan watched Beelzebub's fleeing figure, but she did not give chase immediately. Instead, she gently laid Christina down on the garden ground.
The radiance drifting around her was beyond anything ordinary flame could rival—a divine-era light forged from the wrath and power of a fire deity. Any living creature that approached this brilliance felt a tremor deep in its soul: reverence before supreme might, entwined with an instinctive dread for survival.
Silent, Inoan placed her hand against Christina's chest. Instantly, a burst of sparks blossomed over the girl, and rich, potent mana poured into her body, coaxing life back into her fading form.
"Perhaps I really have gone mad... giving my own lifesaving magic to a useless girl like this..." she murmured under her breath.
Though her mind remained a chaotic blur, she roughly knew what she was doing.
It was an Epic-tier dual-affinity spell of Fire and Regeneration capable of forcibly pulling her back from the brink of death. To use it on a second-rank girl of mediocre talent struck Inoan herself as utter absurdity.
Gradually, color returned to Christina's paper-pale face, like a withered rose blooming anew.
Her tightly shut eyes fluttered faintly, as if she might awaken at any moment. Her chest began to rise and fall in a weak, steady rhythm, and the breath of life flowed gently through her once more.
"Ino..."
Half-asleep and half-awake, Christina opened her eyes hazily, unable to make out the blurred, red-haired figure standing in the torrential rain.
Yet when her eyelashes fluttered again, she found herself already brought before the members of the Baptiste household.
Amidst the devastated ruins of the count's manor, beneath a night sky tearing with thunder and lightning, a girl battered to the edge of death had been yanked back from oblivion.
The hope of life was rekindled within her fragile shell.
"..."
Inoan said nothing, simply handing Christina over to Count Baptiste.
"Thank you... Thank you..."
Looking at Inoan, whose aura had turned utterly terrifying, Count Baptiste reached out his trembling arms and carefully took his treasured jewel into his embrace.
He looked down at his daughter's tranquil, peaceful sleeping face, tears spilling uncontrollably down his cheeks.
The Baptiste family, having survived the disaster, wept in choked sobs, too overwhelmed to speak. Never in their wildest dreams had they imagined that at the depths of despair, hope would arrive in such a manner.
Strangely enough, even though this red-haired woman was the Bishop of Destruction—a figure far more terrifying than any demon—they felt little fear toward her.
Even Christina's three younger siblings did not shrink back when they looked upon Ivanos.
"Ino..."
Kyle opened his mouth, but found a thousand words choked in his throat. He did not know how to express the tempest of emotions within him, nor even what name he should call her.
Never could he have imagined that the maid his sister brought home was none other than the Bishop of Destruction.
Something that had nearly brought catastrophic ruin upon them had, through a bizarre twist of fate, ended up saving their entire family.
He instinctively feared Inoan—feared the grim murderous intent and demonic aura radiating from her. Yet at the same time, he felt profound gratitude toward this Cardinal Bishop who had cast aside everything to snatch his sister back from the clutches of Death.
"Thank you for saving Christina."
By all rights, seeing the Bishop of Destruction, whose hands were stained with countless slaughters, standing at their doorstep should have driven him to the brink of a nervous breakdown. Yet reality was extraordinarily absurd:
The one who had just saved their family was this very Bishop of Destruction, Ivanos.
If he showed the kind of expression one had when facing a demon now, it would probably be far too hurtful to her.
"..."
Inoan remained silent, merely casting a quiet glance over the Baptiste family.
She lifted her head toward the distant horizon where Beelzebub had fled.
Leaving behind a four-sided boundary of rising flames around the Baptiste manor, her figure blurred, vanishing without a trace.
***
Several kilometers away.
Above the South Bank of Palieu, the City of Flowers, Beelzebub streaked across the sky at astonishing speed, like a fleeting meteor cutting through the gloom of the night.
From time to time, he glanced back in panic. Wherever his eyes swept, there were only shattered walls and ruined masonry; the rain-swept avenues of Palieu appeared profoundly desolate under the relentless downpour.
Yet none of that mattered to him. His sole concern was that haunting, terrifying silhouette.
That chilling aura was something that even he, a high demon from the far reaches of the Calamitous Wasteland, dreaded to his core!
*The Bishop of Destruction... Ivanos...*
Those two names echoed relentlessly in his mind, clawing at his nerves like vicious talons.
Beelzebub simply could not comprehend it. How could a maid who seemed merely somewhat formidable turn out to be the Bishop of Destruction, Ivanos, as if hitting a freak jackpot?!
What was worse, it seemed he was the one who had beaten her into awakening!
If he had known earlier, he never would have dared provoke her!
"Rocky! McCarthy! This is all your fault!!"
Beelzebub muttered in horror, desperate to escape Palieu, looking over his shoulder every few seconds.
All he knew right now was that he had to run.
At worst, he would lay low for a century before making a comeback. By then, these humans would all be dead, and he would have all the time and opportunity in the world!
Just as the thought crossed Beelzebub's mind, he felt a pair of bone-chilling hands abruptly slam down onto his forehead.
Before he could react, a colossal force capable of tearing the soul ripped him from the sky.
The world spun violently. Beelzebub felt his internal organs churn as he plummeted uncontrollably from the heavens.
A deafening roar erupted.
Beelzebub slammed violently into the hard ground of Palieu's South Bank!
Dust billowed and stone fragments sprayed everywhere as web-like fissures spiderwebbed across the earth, burying his body without mercy.
"Ugh... cough... cough...!"
Beelzebub struggled to gather his consciousness, dark blood welling continuously from his mouth, his facial features contorted in agonizing pain.
Crimson flames, redder than blood, erupted from the ground, scorching Beelzebub until he let out a shrill scream.
Yet he had no leisure to attend to the pain, for his eyes could register only one figure—that red-haired demon pinning his head to the earth.
Instinct compelled Beelzebub to retaliate. Deep-blue cursed flames burst from his fingertips, surging toward Inoan like an overwhelming tide, rotting and withering the very air as they swept through.
Faced with cursed flames potent enough to severely wound an ordinary eighth-rank powerhouse, Inoan did not flinch in the slightest. Crimson tongues of fire, several times more ferocious, danced wildly around her, rendering the cursed flames completely incapable of leaving a single mark upon her flesh.
She stood quietly, her expression gradually twisting into a cruel smirk.
To her, pain was nothing more than a laughable concept.
"Utterly foolish..."
Inoan's voice echoed faintly through the sea of fire like a dirge chanted by the lord of hell.
In the next instant, Inoan flicked her wrist, and blazing red flames roared forth, swallowing Beelzebub's cursed fire whole. Grasping Beelzebub by the head, she repeatedly slammed him into the earth. The entire South Bank seemed to tremble with the impacts. Even as the ground collapsed into a crater, it could not stop her from brutalizing Beelzebub like a frail jackal pinned beneath her grasp.
Beelzebub turned as pale as paper.
Frantically gathering all his mana, he erected defensive barrier after defensive barrier before himself, yet before those destructive sparks, every defense proved laughably fragile.
And this madwoman felt no pain. Unless she was beaten to death, she would trade injury for injury to the bitter end.
Once targeted by her, there was no running and no blocking. Fighting her was pure torment; at best, he could inflict a bunch of useless superficial damage and claim half her life in exchange!
Beelzebub could not understand why he had provoked such a monster!
His defenses were torn to shreds with ease, and crushed rock buried his body in an instant, dragging him into an inferno of blazing crimson karmic flames.
The demon's bloodcurdling wails echoed through the rainy night, steeped in agony and thick with despair.
"There's no grudge between us!! Bishop of Destruction!!"
Beelzebub fought back desperately, scorching Ivanos with his cursed fire.
Yet Ivanos seemed utterly numb to pain. From start to finish, she never released her grip, piercing Beelzebub's body again and again with pillars of crimson fire.
"Hehehehe."
Blood trickled from the corners of her mouth as her lips curled into a twisted smile.
"All I know is that tormenting you brings me boundless joy."
Sirens wailed across the expanse of Palieu.
"Warning, emergency broadcast."
"An eighth-rank battle has broken out in Palieu South Bank Sector 1."
"An eighth-rank battle has broken out."
"All nearby citizens are urged to evacuate immediately."
"One combatant is suspected to be the demon responsible for spreading the curse; the second combatant is suspected to be the Bishop of Destruction, Ivanos."
***
Less than half an hour later.
North Bank Sector 4, the garden of Count Baptiste's manor.
Raindrops struck the pool, kicking up splashes of water.
The fountain in the garden center had ceased operating, several marble statues lying broken and scattered in the basin.
The once-crystal-clear water was now murky, littered with fallen branches, leaves, and shattered masonry.
The flowerbeds on both sides had not escaped the devastation. Deep in the garden, the tall beeches and oaks had met a similar fate, their proud trunks marred with scorch marks and their branches broken, countless leaves scattering in the gale.
Dragging the charred, mangled corpse of a demon by its heel, Inoan stepped into Count Baptiste's estate one slow pace at a time.
Everything before her bore no resemblance to the sunlit estate preserved in her fleeting memories.
She looked down at herself. The once-pristine maid uniform was soaked in blood and riddled with blackened holes.
It defied all propriety, but none of that mattered anymore.
The pouring rain fell unabated, washing over her broken body and the pools of blood and mud beneath her feet.
The thunder drifted away, and the storm-shrouded night began to quiet. The rain seemed to be steadily tapering off.
When Inoan finally reached the front gates of the manor, the Baptiste family froze in astonishment.
Her body was covered in wounds of every size, some so deep that bone showed through, fresh crimson blood steadily weeping from the cuts. Yet on her face, there was not a trace of agony.
"..."
Their eyes wide, they stared at the blood-drenched, battered maid, at a loss for words.
"It is over,"
Inoan said, her voice devoid of inflection.
Just like when she first arrived at the manor, everything felt foreign.
After she crushed and completely incinerated that pitch-black grimoire, all the demons had regained their sanity as well.
She tossed Beelzebub's corpse aside like a pile of trash.
With Rocky serving as butler in the Baptiste manor, the aristocratic circles of Palieu's North Bank were well aware of his prowess. Explaining how their family had vanquished the demonic culprit would be simple enough; there was no need for her to instruct Count Baptiste on what to do. The family would naturally handle things from here.
"Bring out the employment contract," she said coldly to Count Baptiste.
Count Baptiste hurried back into the mansion and soon returned, handing her a document.
It was merely an employment agreement that imposed little real restraint. If the Bishop of Destruction had wished to kill them, she could have done so long ago.
Inoan took the contract. Soon, the paper burned to ashes, drifting up into the air.
"From this day forth, we have no connection," Inoan said, turning to leave.
"Inoan!"
A cry shattered the dead silence. Pale-faced, Christina rushed forward frantically, tears blurring her lovely eyes.
Though exhausted and wracked with pain, she had forced herself awake.
She had a gut feeling that if she did not wake up now, she might never see Inoan again.
Yet to her surprise, Inoan took a step back, avoiding Christina's reaching arms.
She cast a detached glance at the girl.
"Milady, please maintain your composure."
Inoan's voice was frigid, as if stating something entirely detached from herself.
"But... but why? Inoan, you're hurt so badly... let me bandage your wounds..."
Christina choked back a sob. She was certain Inoan remembered her, yet the maid's current demeanor felt as though she had forgotten everything. Tears streamed down Christina's cheeks.
"..."
"Inoan, don't leave! As long as you keep being Inoan, as long as you don't turn back... no matter who you were before, you'll always be Inoan to me. Stay by my side, please?"
Unable to hold back the torrent of emotion, Christina took two steps toward Inoan.
She felt that if she did not hold on now, she would lose Inoan forever.
The current Inoan radiated an insurmountable distance, as though she belonged to an entirely different world.
"There is no need. I have already repaid you for the medicine."
Inoan offered no further answer, simply letting the rain soak her hair and stream over her forehead.
"Inoan, I can heal you! I'll buy the best medicine for you, and you'll recover in no time! Please, don't go!"
Tears pouring like a spring, Christina gripped Inoan's shoulder with all her might.
"Get lost."
Inoan shoved Christina aside, letting the girl fall to the ground.
Cold indifference once again masked her face, as though she had long severed this futile bond.
"Inoan!"
Christina scrambled up, weeping.
She tried to grasp Inoan's hand, but caught only empty, icy air, her delicate wrists trembling with grief.
Inoan had saved her life and destroyed the contract specifically to clear the family of any association.
Otherwise, if the contract fell into the hands of the United Council of Kingdoms' security agencies and its mana signature was analyzed, the family could face charges of aiding the Resurrection Church.
"Christina, farewell."
In the end, Inoan seemed unable to bear the sound of the girl's weeping.
She looked back with an enigmatic smile, then vanished.
***
Posen Demon Realm.
At the northernmost tip of the scarred district.
As the torrential rain softened into a gentle drizzle and the horizon began to show the pale gray of dawn, a figure stood motionless atop a heap of ruins.
The tilted, shattered broadcast screen behind him had ceased playing.
Lanqi's emerald eyes, clear as lake water, gazed into the distance with a hint of sorrow and exhaustion.
He seemed lost in thought, or perhaps waiting for something.
Suddenly, a dazzling red beam sliced through the thick storm clouds, descending toward Lanqi's vicinity like a blazing crimson comet.
The red light halted dozens of meters from Lanqi, the piercing crimson flames dissipating to reveal a figure that was both familiar and strange to him.
It was Inoan.
She remained covered in wounds, her once-immaculate clothes soaked in blood until they resembled a tattered banner that had weathered countless storms.
Yet in her eyes, there was an unprecedented calm and release, as if an immense burden had finally been lifted.
She looked quietly at Lanqi, a faint, almost imperceptible smile gracing her lips, like a greeting to an old friend she had not seen in years.
Gradually, the rain dwindled.
The gale ceased howling, and the raindrops grew sparse.
They fell softly upon the earth, producing a faint rustle.
Above the ruins of the Posen Demon Realm, though still dim, dawn was drawing near.
"You really are here," Inoan said, looking at the brown-haired, green-eyed youth.
"I guessed you might come looking for me." Lanqi sighed and shook his head.
If she were purely the Bishop of Destruction, Ivanos, she should have fled.
After all, remaining in Palieu offered her no benefit.
Yet for the current Ivanos, it was entirely possible she would make choices she never would have considered before.
"Because when you chose not to abandon Christina and run, but instead saved her and killed Beelzebub, it proved that you had changed."
Lanqi looked at Inoan, a flicker of conflicted emotion in his eyes.
One could only say that within coincidence lay inevitability.
If Beelzebub had not possessed such a temperament, he would not have beaten the Bishop of Destruction awake.
And for the Bishop of Destruction, having grown accustomed to life as Inoan, she might well have preferred never to recall who she was.
To her, it was like falling into a gentle land of slumber.
Yet encountering Beelzebub—that mirror engraved with sin—she had been forced to reclaim her memories, and being beaten awake was her punishment.
"This world is full of retribution," Inoan murmured to herself.
In the past, hearing Loren utter those words with righteous fury in battle had only made her sneer. Now, she finally understood.
"Ivanos, from this moment on, I will treat you as the Bishop of Destruction."
Her best choice had been to flee the Kingdom of Posen, or perhaps find a way to stay with the Baptiste family. Yet since she had come looking for Lanqi, there could be only one answer.
Seeing Inoan's expression and sensing the mana rising from her body, Lanqi understood her intention.
There was still one final battle to be fought today.
Neither of them was in peak condition; the outcome was anyone's guess.
Not only had Ivanos used her lifesaving trump card, [Embers of the Nether Shore], to rescue Christina, but she had also slain Beelzebub, exhausting most of her mana and vitality.
"Even though you saved the Baptiste family and many innocent citizens of the City of Flowers... that does not mean your past slaughters can be erased. And just as I teach my students, one cannot rely on evil men for salvation..."
Lanqi's brows dipped, and for the first time, an unprecedented solemn grief filled his eyes.
If possible, he truly wished that the one who saved Christina had not been the Bishop of Destruction, and that protecting the City of Flowers had not required her power.
Nor did he wish that the enemy he had to kill right now was Inoan.
Yet such was reality: many things could no longer be parsed by simple notions of right and wrong.
"Throughout my life, morality has been nothing but garbage. But speaking with you... was the only moral thing I ever did."
Strands of hair fell across Inoan's right eye as she tilted her head slightly.
"Rocky, I both hate you and thank you. Thank you for giving me a beautiful dream."
She answered with a sense of fatalistic composure.
Today, either she would kill Rocky, or Rocky would kill her.
"Is this our final conversation, then?" Lanqi asked, his voice striving to muster strength through sheer exhaustion.
She had neither chosen to surrender nor sought help, deciding instead to see her villainous path through to the bitter end.
In that case, battling her was the only redemption Lanqi could offer.
"Words are useless now. Let us begin," Inoan said.
"..."
Talia readied herself as well.
This was likely the most grueling final battle they would face in Palieu. By now, the fighting style she and Lanqi shared had matured: she would use her possession state to disrupt and draw the opponent's focus at low cost, before manifesting at the critical moment to deliver the lethal strike.
This moment felt very much like their first clash in the Sacred Silver Vine Arena.
Talia felt that an opponent she had defeated once was someone she could defeat again.
An ominous chill swept across the ruins.
Cold raindrops struck the earth, rippling outward as the final battle of life and death commenced!
Dancing with the wind, Inoan's figure blurred into a shadow, gliding toward Lanqi like a phantom as countless rays of crimson divine light coalesced around her.
Her style remained entirely unchanged, seeking to decide the outcome in an instant and obliterate her foe completely.
"..."
Facing this sudden assault, Lanqi's expression remained steady, mirroring the earlier clash where Talia's mental magic had suppressed Ivanos.
For Talia, mental magic was her primary school, whereas for Ivanos—who favored fire first and mental magic second—it was merely secondary.
The moment Talia's mental forcefield collided with Ivanos's, the two neutralized each other's control once more.
Neither side could gain the upper hand.
It was identical to their previous engagement.
In that flash of lightning, their eyes met, devoid of surprise.
Ivanos's and Talia's mental powers intertwined, clashed, and canceled each other out in midair.
In that split second, time seemed to slow down, forming an invisible contest between them.
Lanqi's arm shot upward like an arrow released from a bow, his fingertip aiming directly at Inoan's heart, his gaze sharp as a blade poised to sever all evil and darkness in the world.
Having fought in the Sacred Silver Vine Arena, both knew that what followed was an ultimate clash of heavy strikes at close range.
Yet at that razor's edge of an instant...
Inoan suddenly extinguished all her flames, and the mana gathering around her dispersed into nothingness.
She stood quietly in place, a serene curve on her lips, her gaze peaceful and composed as if welcoming a long-settled conclusion.
A gray rift pierced straight through her heart.
As the gray fissure detonated, Inoan coughed up a mouthful of blood. Slowly closing her eyes, her body slumped powerlessly, drifting gently down like a crimson leaf amid the shattered ruins.
"...?"
Lanqi's eyes widened, unable to comprehend why Inoan had been defeated so easily.
"Ivanos? Why did you do that?!"
Utterly baffled, Lanqi called out to her.
Talia manifested instantly, barring Lanqi from carelessly approaching Ivanos.
Yet Talia also knew there was likely no deceit involved.
The moment she saw Lanqi strike to kill her...
She had abandoned all resistance.
With a faint smile playing on her lips, Ivanos lay upon the ground, staring up at the cloud cover that still hid the sunrise.
"..."
Blood trickled from the corners of her mouth as the light in her eyes faded.
She neither wept nor laughed, nor did she answer Lanqi's question.
She simply passed away in peace.
Just like the curtain falling on her life.
Leaving behind only that single [Original Slate - Fire].
"Why did it have to be like this..."
Lanqi seemed to realize something, or perhaps overwhelmed by exhaustion and the sudden, piercing daylight, he held his forehead in anguish.
The ground began to shake again, collapsing from the brief eighth-rank clash they had just engaged in.
Talia swiftly retrieved the slate, grabbed Lanqi, and carried him away from the ruins to the relatively stable roof of a small chapel in the distance.
Compared to the series of massive battles that had unfolded throughout the night, their brief clash was like the gentle drizzle of the morning compared to a midnight tempest.
To the demons of the City of Flowers, it was at most a somewhat loud alarm clock at dawn.
The ambitious Perlman and the curse-spreader Beelzebub were both dead.
The legendary magic artifact [Palroni's Record of Resentment] had been destroyed.
The demons across Palieu were returning to their senses.
The city was beginning to recover.
Refugees and demons gradually emerged from the shelters, stepping back onto the scarred earth.
The pitter-patter of rain, the flow of water, the streetlamps, and the laughter of survivors blended into a rainy-night rhapsody of the sleepless city, echoing endlessly above Palieu.
"Lanqi, what's wrong?"
Talia looked at Lanqi, realizing he was truly overloaded—far more exhausted than she had imagined, struggling even to keep his eyes open.
"Do you know how despair is defined?"
Lanqi sat down on the roof, his voice weary beyond measure, gazing at the clouds drifting across the brightening horizon.
Though a light rain still fell over the City of Flowers, clear skies would surely arrive with the sunrise.
"I don't,"
Talia shook her head.
Lanqi usually understood such concepts far better than she did, yet he rarely brought them up unprompted.
It seemed that if Ivanos had fought them to the bitter end, Lanqi's mindset would have remained sound.
Yet her peaceful death weighed heavily upon his heart.
"There was once an experiment... First, let a laboratory rat live a happy life, implanting electrodes in its brain to record the active neurons during those joyful moments. Next, take its companions away, lock it in a narrow, claustrophobic, damp, and freezing chamber, and shock it continuously with electricity. Every so often, plunge its head into an ice-water mixture—unable to flee, unable to struggle. After some time, it falls into despair."
Lanqi spoke to himself, his gaze fixed on the distance.
"How do you measure whether it's truly in despair? What if it's unyielding, and the more you torment it, the stronger its will to resist?" Talia asked, listening attentively.
She could sense that Lanqi was far more exhausted than she had thought; his voice was softer than usual.
"There are two indicators," Lanqi continued.
"The first is the sucrose preference test. After tormenting it, return it to a cage with two types of water: sweetened water and plain water."
"A psychologically healthy rat will drink sweet water and plain water in an eight-to-two ratio. If its mind is sound, it prefers sweet water, but will occasionally drink plain water."
"If, upon return, its drinking ratio becomes fifty-fifty, we consider its psychology compromised."
"Why?" Talia asked.
"No preference remains. Everything tastes the same to it," Lanqi explained, looking at her.
"..."
Talia seemed to understand. If one day she gave up hope entirely, she might become the same.
If she had never met Lanqi, arrived in Ikelite only to discover Hyperion had already been harmed, and then failed to find her sister in the Creti Empire, she might truly have lost all appetite for life, driven purely by endless vengeance.
"Of course, one indicator isn't enough," Lanqi took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
"The second is the tail suspension test. Suspend the rat by its tail, upside down. A healthy rat will curl its head upward and struggle. If it gives up entirely, ceases to resist, and loses all will to survive..."
"Then satisfying those two indicators truly means despair," Talia agreed.
Their conversation was extraordinarily peaceful.
Rarely did they sit together and talk so quietly.
"Do you think that once it reaches that state of despair, it can still be saved?" Lanqi asked her.
"Is there still a way to bring it back?" Talia asked with curiosity.
"Actually, yes." Lanqi nodded, but did not immediately offer the answer.
Talia pondered for a moment.
"Rescue it from that miserable environment, place it in a spacious, warm setting, give it all kinds of delicious food and fun toys, let it eat and play whatever it wants in absolute safety, surrounded by companions?"
She ventured uncertainly.
Lanqi merely looked at her without speaking.
Even without hearing his answer, she understood instantly.
"It won't save it," Lanqi said.
The hesitation in Talia's tone showed she already knew such measures would fail.
"Then how can it be saved?" Talia frowned.
"Remember the electrodes implanted during its happy days? Stimulate those marked neural cells repeatedly—awaken its cherished memories. Within a few days and nights, it can be fully cured."
Even without continuing, he knew Talia understood.
What can save a soul is not present sensory pleasure, but the beautiful times once possessed.
That was why a happy childhood was so vital.
"The moment I first saw Inoan, I knew: from childhood to adulthood, she had never experienced a single beautiful moment. She didn't know what happiness was. She had no childhood to heal her throughout life."
That was what Lanqi believed.
Just as with Xigelei—regardless of what kind of childhood Xigelei had endured, he firmly believed that by creating more fond memories for her, those memories might sprout hope and keep her living resolutely even if she faced trials or lost herself one day.
For Inoan, Lanqi had felt the same.
Before her memories awakened, she was like a blank, pure infant.
Naturally, Lanqi sought to carry his philosophy to the end.
Yet he had never anticipated what that fleeting glimmer of light amid eternal darkness would mean to Inoan.
Recalling Inoan in the beginning, she indulged her desires and vented wildly, but she also knew how to struggle, fighting desperately to survive no matter how wretched things became.
Yet after Lanqi's salvation, when obtaining everything she wished for was no longer difficult, she chose death instead.
"It turns out what I gave Inoan wasn't salvation, but true despair... Through her death, she told me that sometimes, there really are people I cannot save," Lanqi murmured, his eyes clear like a deep pool reflecting the boundless sky.
"Tata, you won."
He conceded.
In their earlier wager, Talia had been right, and he had been wrong.
Inoan had died in the manner he found hardest to accept.
He had been too confident, assuming he had won a perfect ending, when in reality, it had crumbled at the very threshold.
"..."
Yet the gloating mockery Lanqi anticipated from Talia never came.
Talia pulled his head into her embrace, letting him rest against her chest, telling him not to overthink.
"There's no such thing,"
she said softly, like a mother, with the same tenderness she showed Hyperion.
"You were the one who taught me resolution,"
she whispered into Lanqi's ear.
"Every miracle requires conditions to occur. If you do not see things through to the end, even the Goddess of Fate cannot favor you. So please, remain resolute. Whenever you waver, I will guide you."
"..."
Lanqi's eyes widened, yet he did not move for a long time, until his expression gradually softened into relief.
On the roof, neither spoke another word.
They quietly listened to each other's heartbeats.
Overcome at last by drowsiness, Lanqi slowly closed his eyes.
Dawn illuminated their figures from beyond the clouds.
The chapel's rose window cast a faint blue glow, and rainwater trickled down the architectural contours like an ancient aria.
Until the rain ceased, the mist scattered, and the east grew white with day.
Chapter 690